As she watched him, Harry watched her, wishing he knew what she was thinking, how she wanted him to decide. Then he recalled that he was done making decisions for others. His half brother had pummeled the fact into him that he was not always correct in what he thought best for everyone else. No matter that he thought himself omniscient, he did not have the right to play god with anyone elses life. Rex had said so while Harry lay bleeding on the canvas at Jack-sons Boxing Parlour. Of course, Harry had let the younger man win the match; Rex was lame in one leg, after all.
He could make provision for Miss Ryland and the brother. That was no problem. He could even leave her as chaste as he found her. That might be a problem, for the woman was exquisite. Her reputation would be destroyed, though, and he knew how precious that was to a female.
But, damn, she was stunning enough to make headlines in the gossip columns, and smart enough to listen to whispered conversations in whatever language.
Harry wanted to be done with this scheme, with all intrigue, for all times. The war was over; his days as spymaster in the Intelligence Division of the War Office were almost at an end. He wanted to retire, by Zeus, not live in shadows and disguises and under aliases for the rest of his life.
He saw how happy his half brother, Rex, was, with his lovely wife, Amanda, helping him recover from his war wounds, both mental and physical. Why, they had twins already, a boy and a girl, that Rex doted on. Harry was jealous, not just of the infants, but of the peace he felt surrounding the viscount and his wife at the christening.
Harry hadnt wanted to attend the event at all. What, the bastard brother waving his bar sinister at the church for all to see? His presence would have embarrassed everyone. But Rex had insisted, and their father, the Earl of Royce, had written his hopes of seeing all his family, sons and grandchildren, together. Even Lady Royce, his fathers wife, had written a polite letter of invitation herself. The countess, Harry knew, felt guilty for keeping the half brothers apart so long. Some women would have taken their husbands by-blow into their home to raise. Not Lady Royce. Shed left the earl and her own son, instead. Now that she and Lord Royce were reconciled, secure in their own marriage at last, she could be forgiving of the boya man now, of over thirty yearsfor coming between them through no fault of his own.
Harry might still have refused the invitation to the familys ancestral home, where he would never be part of the true family, but Cousin Daniel had insisted theyd all be offended otherwise. Daniel reported that his own mother wanted to meet her new nephew, and his sister was excited when she heard he was as handsome as the other Royce males, with the same dark coloring and unique black-rimmed blue eyes. She wanted to show him off to her girlfriends, which would have been enough to keep Harry in London, except Amanda, Rexs wife and the sweetest woman he knew, had asked him to stand as godfather to the boy. He could not refuse.
Daniel was godfather to the girl. He started weeping the instant that tiny scrap of lace and love was placed in his arms. Everyone laughed except Harry, feeling the tears well up in his own eyes, to see them reflected in matching blue ones with the dark rim. A baby, born in harmony, wanting for nothing, his future assured. Oh, lucky Rex, and oh, how Harry wanted that peace, that promise, a son, for himself.
And that was the truth. It was as sweet as honey, as sweet on his tongue as nectar.
Miss Ryland coughed, and he came back from his woolgathering to wonder what her lips would taste like.
He sighed. Such thoughts were for another tomorrow. Today was for finding out the truth, the way the Royce men always had, always could. Rex saw colors, true blue for honesty. The earl heard notes of discord for lies. Poor Daniel got rashes at untruths. And he, Harry, the illegitimate son, could taste a falsehood.
The odd, unheard-of gift of truth-knowing made them all invaluable to the country. Lord Royce acted in the legal system; Rex and Daniel had been the Inquisitors on the Peninsula, interrogating prisoners to find the enemys secrets, secrets that could keep the generals informed and the soldiers safe. Recently Rex had been a huge help to Bow Streets police force before he left London for his wifes confinement and the infants births. Hed do more when he returned to Town. They all worked in secrecy, of course, for the talent was too close to sorcery or witchcraft or magic for the publics comfort. Or for Daniels. He was determined to sow his wild oats in London, then become a gentleman farmer, where only nettles could make him break out in hives. He had no interest in serving the country in time of peace, only in carousing his way through the citys underworld. Harry could sympathize, but he had plans for Daniel, anyway. The gift was too important to waste on barmaids, brawls, or barley crops.
As for himself, Harry was usually tucked away in hidden offices, in wigs and disguises when he went out. He was the Aide, a state secret unto himself. Half myth, half truth, he could sift through all the gathered intelligence and recognize the truth. He had fingers in every aspect of military and political and criminal life, in everything that could threaten his country. Recently hed dealt with smugglers, embezzlers, and spies, French sympathizers all.
Now Napoleon was gone, and the Aide could be, too. Then Harry might make a real life for himself, as himself. The house party was the key. Harry Harmon, Lord Royces bastard son, was invited now that he was acknowledged by his powerful father. Hed go, raffish Harry, and Major Harrison would stay behind. An assistant was already fitted for the right clothes, the wig and beard and mustache. The man wouldnt be in actual danger despite the death threatsHarry would not have let another man take a bullet meant for himbut hed die, anyway. Hed suffer a heart spasm spectacularly, loudly, visible, right there on the steps of Whitehall for everyone to see. Hed be carried inside, physicians sent for, for naught. Harry had the obituary already written.
Farewell, Major, with all your enemies. Welcome, Harry Harmon, rakehell from the wrong side of the blanket. No one could connect the two, not when Harry was conducting a torrid affair at Lord Gorhams party in Richmond. Hed be safe and done with intrigue, ready for the rest of his life.
